City Of Love
by Cookie-Stories
Summary: What did happen in Paris Jetlag ? -Tiva!- oneshot.


_**A/N: So some of you might have read this in Survivor, the other story in progress. But i thought of giving Paris a part on it's own - no maniac Jeanne and secretive assistant. Just Paris. And whatever happened there. Read on :) Reviews and Criticism is streaked with gold! **_

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><p>They were bickering in the elevator, having their little tiff on who could have gotten them separate rooms instead with their easy words. Out of every other option, they had to share a room for the night, and both of them knew that it would never end well. Tony would probably end up on the floor, a broken nose or arm and bleeding, knowing how well he was an insolent clown. He would be the death of his partner, who would most probably get too annoyed with him and break him like a plastic doll.<p>

"And the first thing you do after landing in Paris is buy a post card! What are you going to send back? 'Hey guys, we'll be back in a day?' Because you'll probably be the one reading your own card in a week. It totally defeats its purpose, Zee-Vah." Tony chortled with his self-found amusement, and Ziva glared at him narrow eyed from the far left side of her vision.

"It is purely for remembrance, can it not?"

"Eh..." Tony crinkled his nose, looking upwards in his quick thought. "Not for me."

"Please remember, Tony, that I still very much want to shoot you." Ziva played with a grin on her thin lips, stepping out of the elevator as the fine piece of machinery signaled their arrival with a ding!

Tony tousled her hair from behind her, making a disheveled mess of her already messed up hair. "Does that change anything?" He asked with childish zest.

"No." She chuckled as she slipped the card into the reader slot and swung the door to their hotel room open.

"Oh-hoho. I can't believe NCIS offered to pay for this!" He stared wide-eyed at the Executive Suite they were given. "I mean, this IS the Park Hyatt. Anyone would know the price of these rooms!"

"That is why it's called an upgrade, Tony. Besides, the Presidential Suite here deserves your kind of enthusiasm."

"Wait- You've stayed there?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe."

Tony had helped to store their baggage in the cabinet, then deciding to poke around the room and relax out back by the balcony. Ziva had gone to shower after the long airplane trip with her dislike of the onboard smell. He crept into the bathroom, which she didn't lock, after exploring the whole vicinity and wanting to wash up and go see the sights.

"Decency to knock, DiNozzo?" Ziva said, making her voice louder than the water pelting down onto the surface of the stone walls and marble floor from the rain shower head.

"Not like I haven't seen you naked before, David." He answered with a smirk, not bothering to peer into the frosted glass of the enclosed shower to catch a glance of her bare figure.

"How direct." She stuck her head out of the door, scowling at him as she took the robe and towel back into the shower.

"I have always thought of myself as forthright, it's good." He scoffed back at her remark in his defense.

"And the Bamma butt?" She retorted back, beaming smugly to herself when he had nothing to say about his self-contradictory statements. "I thought so." She fitted herself into the oversized robe, tying it tightly around her waist, then stepping out of the shower. She stood by the shower, scrutinizing his build from behind him while he was in a different style of clothes. It was a dark tight-fitted t-shirt that clung to his slightly thickset frame, and a pair of sandy faded grey cargo pants.

"What?" He turned from the sink to face her, seeing her eyes on him through the mirror in some kind of physical scrutiny.

She frowned, pondering about something. "Have you been working out? You look more... meaty."

"Beefy, Ziva." He corrected with a chuckle.

"Whatever." She snapped and rolled her eyes at him, playing about with a smile on her lips. "You should change your style for work, you know? Army suits you much better compared to office informal."

"We have something to follow, sweetcheeks." He pronounced her pet name with much sarcasm. "It's called Dress Code."

"But, if I remember correctly, Gibbs does not follow it, no?" She asked with slight baffle, walking out to the cabinets to get and change into her white camisole tank top and darkly colored sleep shorts.

"He loves making rules, but hates following them. That's just how our old man Gibbs rolls!" He yelled out from the bathroom with a Casanova vibe that he could have been suspected doing some happy dance in there. "Oh crap - Do you think they placed spy cams here?" Tony would probably be slaughtered or head slapped by Gibbs if he heard that.

"No, Tony. Don't be so paranoid. He is 3839 miles away from us." She glanced back into the bathroom as she pulled a face towel over her head to rest around her neck, seeing Tony looking intently into the mirror as if he were putting on make-up.

"Smart-ass." He muttered to himself.

"Or so we have been trained." She hollered from the bed room, sitting cross-legged on the bed as she flipped through the pages of Madame Bovary, the book she had been in the midst of reading.

"I assume you're not coming along for the sight-seeing, reading whatever book there that you're reading..." He paced past her to get his jacket and camera, catching a glimpse of the few hundred unfamiliar words on the single page. "... In whatever language that is..."

"It's French."

"Need to know, Ziva. Need to know." He smiled sheepishly before walking into the lounging room, then the doorway. "I take the bed!"

"Remember to get a spare card, because I am not going to open that door for you." She replied before the room door had shut completely, hoping he heard it or else he'd get locked out of the room for the rest of the night. Well, unless he had the brains to get one himself on his own accord.

Now, the suite of 75 square-metres was all hers, as well as some privacy. She leaned back on the cushioned head board and took her book in hand, kicking the oriental-styled covers away as she got comfortable. She also sipped on the champagne that Tony had left unfinished in the champagne glass provided by the hotel itself, finding the champagne concoction a very unique cocktail to savor. He was gone for hours, and she had read half of the book before falling into a slumber, sliding herself down the head board to rest her head comfortably on the pillow by the left side of the bed with her facing the edge of the bed. It was about twelve midnight when Tony keyed into the room, calling out Ziva's name once when he realized the lights were still on. When she didn't respond, he guessed that she was sleeping. He slipped out of his moccasins, taking a quick shower before making his way all about the rooms of the suite to turn the respective room lights off. Then, he walked by her, turning off the bedside lamp, and he caught a glimpse of her relaxed, composed face as she slept, slightly compelled by the soft expression that was etched on her serene face. She looked stunning, even while she was sleeping, her skin in someway glowing under the dim yellow light. This, he took a moment to notice. Tony pulled the heavy blanket over her slightly curled body, placing her book on the bedside table, then contemplating on whether or not to sleep in the same bed or take the couch. In the process, he noticed a slight difference in her sleep - she wasn't sleeping with a gun.

It wasn't after much consideration and given thought that he crawled into the unoccupied side of the bed. His comparisons were between having a horribly aching back for the rest of tomorrow's sight seeing and flight, or either being bruised and battered or man-slaughtered by his ninja without any malicious aforethought. And he chose to side with the latter, better to be killed by some sexy assassin than to be killed by his screwed up back for a long period of time. He stared at the ceiling for some time, then at the silhouette of Ziva's sleeping figure beside him until he fell asleep too as it wasn't long before exhaustion became overwhelming to him.

In the still of the night, about 3.30 in the morning, Ziva was lightly startled awake. Her first instinct that came to her mind was to get her gun or to attack, something latched at the back of her head that she would always remember. But she did none of that. What had woken her was the sudden touch of Tony's hand wrapped over her torso and her right arm, his nose and forehead unknowingly touching the lower back of her head, all done in his sub-conscious mind. She turned her head slightly to look over her shoulder, subtly smiling on how serious Tony looked when he slept, for someone that hid his truthful emotions behind the mask of a forever smiling clown. Instead of peeling him off her, she stayed there, shifting a little before she went back to sleep. When Tony woke up around seven in the bright morning, a stubbornly glaring light invading his vision, half of him just dreaded what he did, while the other sort of rejoiced about it.

He carefully tore himself off her, trying not to wake her up, and changed into the tux he wore in the previous day before leaving quietly for another two hours of sightseeing before getting Nora. He hoped she had not noticed - though she did realize it at a much earlier point of time than him - so that he could step back on US ground again still with a life. Ziva woke up an hour later, realizing that Tony had already left the hotel. She freshened up before heading out herself to a cafe around the corner where she frequented before to lounge for her first cup of coffee of the day for perks. Tony had found her by the street with a cup of coffee, sipping on it as her mind played about the whole of yesterday. He had thought about the same things too, and then both deciding to themselves that whenever anyone asked either of them about last night, both would lie on who took the couch and who took the bed.

And to both of them, deep within themselves, that was their experience in the city of love, Paris.

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><p><em><strong>Did that make any of you throw a fit? Because - FEAR NOT. this is just ONE WAY it could have happened(: <strong>_

_**The [wild] beauty of the "other" way it could have happened is progressing and processing in my stupid brain. How evil. **_

_**Review and write me a poem(: **_


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